Letters to a Friend
by teacups-and-murder
Summary: John was severely injured in the Battle of Hogwarts, leaving him in St. Mungo's hospital for months on end. He returns home to find a stack of letters from Sherlock. They reunite at school and Sherlock is determined to get John back to normal or, at least, to a new normal. Of course, nothing goes as planned when rumors start flying around the school.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, everyone! This is an idea that popped in my head that simply wouldn't go away. So I wrote it out. I'm thinking about turning it into a multi-chapter fic? Please let me know what you guys think! :D Also, this hasn't been beta'd or britpicked. Let me know if you see any mistakes!

**Warning: Brief mentions of suicidal thoughts/depression.**

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_Hey Sherlock, _

_Sorry I haven't written to you all summer. I know I promised that I would. My mum kept all the letters you sent. They're in a stack on my bed. Haven't had the chance to go through them yet. I just got released from St. Mungo's. They were keeping me pretty isolated. No visitors and things like that. Which I don't really understand, but hey I'm not the healer. My left shoulder is scarred up pretty bad. I can't move it very well. I'm trying some physical therapy things to try and loosen it up. I also have a limp, but there's no damage to my leg. The healers said it's all psychological. Same with my hand. It's got a tremor in it that comes and goes. Anyhow, I hope you're doing well. I haven't read through your letters yet, but I guess I'll find out shortly. Just want you to know that just because you're in Slytherin doesn't make you a bad person. I know it's going to be rough this next coming year, but I really need you there at Hogwarts with me. It's going to be hard coming back._

_-John H. Watson_

John sighed and sat his quill down on his desk. He scrubbed tiredly at his eyes. It was half past four in the morning. He'd been tossing and turning in his bed all night and hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. His gaze kept going to the stack of letters that were now sitting on his desk. He'd been avoiding writing this letter. He wasn't sure why. Guilt, perhaps? Or maybe the thought of Sherlock brought back memories from the Battle of Hogwarts that he would rather forget. He winced and felt his heart jump into his throat. He practiced the breathing exercises he'd been taught at St. Mungo's to calm his racing heart. He folded his parchment carefully and sealed it into an envelope.

A sense of guilt washed over him and he hesitated before giving it to his owl Gladstone. Gladstone was a beautiful Spectacled Owl in a rich brown color. Gladstone gave him a small tilt of the head as if to ask, 'Are you sure?' John nodded and said, "I'm sure." Gladstone gave a small noise of approval and then took off through John's open window. John sighed and slouched back in his chair, his hand reaching up to massage his bad shoulder.

He knew why he was feeling guilty. He felt like he wasn't telling Sherlock the entire truth. Which, maybe he wasn't. He was trying to spare Sherlock from the gruesome details of his stay at St. Mungo's. (He had a feeling Sherlock already knew, however, with Mycroft's position in the Ministry.) He knew Sherlock felt guilty about what had happened and John didn't want to make that guilt any harder for him than it already was. His gaze then flitted over to the calendar hanging on the wall. Fourteen more days until he left for the Hogwarts Express. He couldn't believe it. He only had sixteen days of summer outside of St. Mungo's.

With a groan he got himself to his feet. He plopped face first onto his bed with another longsuffering groan. He hadn't slept since he'd been home. He wanted to. He _really _did. His limbs were trembling from the lack of sleep. He saw images at the corners of his eyes that weren't actually there. Noises and sounds seemed to echo beside his ears, but he could never find the source. He wished the bed would just swallow him whole and end his suffering.

After another solid hour of tossing and turning, his eyes drifted to the letters on the desk. He wasn't sleeping anyhow. He may as well make use of his time. He wished he didn't have to move to get them, but he did. With some stifled groans of pain (his shoulder was still quite stiff and his leg screamed when he put weight on it) he got the letters and then collapsed on his bed again. He opened the first one and began to read.

_May 13__th__, 1998_

_John,_

_I know you won't get this. My brother has informed me that you are in solitary confinement at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He has assured me that the best Healers have been put on your case. I only hope this is true. Despite knowing you won't receive this letter or any that may follow, it seems to make me feel better to write to you. I'm not sure why. I'm sure you would be able to tell me. As I write this, reconstruction on the castle has begun. Classes have been cancelled until the coming fall, but students are still welcome to stay and help if they choose to do so. Most students have left, but a few of us are still here. Most notably your Gryffindor friend Neville Longbottom. He's taken charge of a good portion of the rebuild and living up to the Gyffindor name. You would be happy. _

_I wish you were happy now, though I know that's probably not the case. I apologize again for the ordeal you had to go through. Being under the _Cruciatus _curse for that long is very dangerous and I can only pray that you make a full recovery. School will not be the same without you, John Watson._

_SH_

_June 4__th__, 1998_

_The summer is boring me to death. Please hurry up and get better, John. My skull can talk, but it's not the same as having you around to talk to. I'm not quite sure how I handled cases before our inevitable meeting in fourth year Potions. _

_SH_

_June 11__th__, 1998 _

_John,_

_I tried to sneak into St. Mungo's today to see you, but I was stopped by a very observant Healer. I was impressed, to say the least. I did see you for a few moments through the window of your room before I was forcibly hauled away. A Healer appeared to be massaging your shoulder. Your back was turned to the window, so I doubt you saw me. It's fine. You looked too pale and too thin and I believe that to be quite the statement coming from me. When I see you again I will make sure you are back to a normal weight before Quidditch season. I promise._

_SH_

_June 24, 2014_

_John, _

_Happy Birthday. I tried sending you a cake, but I believe it was turned down. I don't understand why they're keeping you so isolated. I've been doing my own research and I believe that your symptoms need a different treatment. I've argued with Mycroft about it, but he won't listen. You need to be around people, John. I know because of my experiences with you. Isolation is probably killing you, driving you slowly insane. You're very social and you need social interaction to help your mood which will then increase the speed at which you heal. I'm going to try and write to the Healers on your case, but they'll probably turn those down too. _

_SH_

John read every single letter. Each of them is of varying lengths. One of them was only a sentence long. "I'm out of milk." John had actually laughed at that one. It was well past eight in the morning when he finally reached the last one, sent only three days ago. His brow furrowed in concern as he opened it. There was no date. There was no "John." It simply started with Sherlock's scrawl of a script. The writing seemed shaky and there were evident blotches on the parchment, as if he'd been crying when he'd written it. John took a deep breath and braced himself before beginning to read.

_I can't do this, John. I got into St. Mungo's, this time without being seen. I saw you begging the Healers to kill you. You were crying and begging them to end your pain. If I wouldn't have been so careless you wouldn't be screaming yourself hoarse every day and night. I read all of the Healers' notes. I know everything, John. Everything. I can't sleep now without hearing your screams. I dream you're at my feet. You grab onto my leg and begin to plead with me to kill you. I hold my wand in my hand and the killing curse rolls off my lips before I can stop it. I hold your corpse in my arms and it feels so _real. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, John. For all the hurt that I have caused you. Please forgive me. _

_Sherlock_

John sobbed.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! :) I think I have a general idea of where I want to take this now, so I can assure you there will be more chapters to follow. Also, I apologize for the ending to this chapter. It was either end it there or make the chapter _super _long. Anyways, enjoy!

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John winced as he jarred his shoulder against the wall in the small hallway of the train. It was practically empty at this point in time. John had arrived late to Platform 9 ¾ to try and avoid all the hustle and bustle. He'd guessed there would be less people, however he had been wrong. Because the train had not left the platform yet, all of the parents were still waiting on the platform. He'd had to shove his way through with all his things, apologizing every time he ran into someone. Which had happened quite a few times. His limp caused him to bump shoulders with those around him and bumping shoulders only meant pain for John. And so it was that he now found himself dragging his luggage to the back of the train where he and Sherlock always sat. He didn't bother to stop and say hello to his housemates. They would only want to ask questions about what had happened to him and where he'd been all summer. He wasn't ready for that discussion with anyone. He wasn't even sure if he was ready to talk to Sherlock about it.

The train lurched into motion while John was still struggling with getting his luggage down the long hallway. He stumbled and then cussed loudly as he jarred his shoulder yet again. It was then that he saw Sherlock's head pop out the door of one of the nearby compartments. "John!" he called, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

"What, recognized my swearing?" John teased back, a smile spreading across his face as well. It felt foreign to him. When had been the last time he'd truly smiled? Sherlock took two long steps forward before wrapping John in a gentle hug. John noted that he was careful not to touch his shoulder. John dropped his luggage that was in his left hand and gave Sherlock a quick hug in return. "Hello, Sherlock." He greeted properly.

Sherlock was still grinning slightly as he pulled away, bending down to pick up John's dropped luggage. "I was worried you wouldn't show." He said. Sherlock's tone was teasing, but John had a feeling he was being serious. John carried his other luggage easily now that he had two hands. He switched his owl cage to his left and carried his only remaining bag with his right.

"You know I couldn't bear to be anywhere else." John said, the smile still lingering on his face. Sherlock slid the compartment door open and brought John's luggage in, tucking it under the seat by his. John sat his on the seat across from where Sherlock was sitting and sighed with relief as he plopped down into it. His mum had been worried he wasn't ready to go back to school. John had insisted he was, but he honestly wasn't sure. Although the pain had lessened, he was still exhausted and physically weak. He lifted the cover on his owl cage and quietly apologized to Gladstone for the rough journey. The bird simply ruffled his feathers and looked slightly offended before John smoothed the cover back over the cage. Sherlock slid the door shut and paused there, staring down at the ground. John could feel the sudden shift in the air. "Sherlock?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock took in a deep breath and then pushed it out. He began to pace in the small space of the compartment, his robes flying about him. His Prefect badge flashed and John wondered, yet again, how Sherlock had managed to become a Prefect and he hadn't. His hand made a wild motion and something tumbled off Sherlock's lips that sounded something like, "Wjasdflz." but John was too busy thinking to catch it. "Hm?" he questioned, this time his attention on what Sherlock was saying.

Sherlock paused in front of John and placed his hands on his hips. His eyes were focused somewhere else, though. He was worrying at his lower lip. "Um, there's a lot of things I need to say." He started. He cleared his throat, scrubbed at his chin, and then placed his hand back on his hip. It was obvious he was extremely nervous. John had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"We wrote to each other." John said, arms crossing over his chest. His shoulders hunched in a defensive posture. "Do we really need to talk about it in person?"

Sherlock huffed and seemed to deflate, but before he could answer the door to their compartment slid open. The boys looked over to see Mary Morstan. "Uh, hi." She greeted, she looked between the two and seemed to realize she'd just interrupted a very important conversation. "Sorry, but Sherlock, they need you in the Prefect's meeting. They can't start 'till everyone's there." She then turned her attention to John and flashed him a warm smile. "Hello, John."

John felt his face flush. "Hi." He answered, flushing more when his voice cracked. Mary seemed to contain a giggle and then looked back to Sherlock. "You coming?"

Sherlock nodded and left the room in a flurry of robes without another word. Mary's brow knitted in concern. "He okay?" she asked.

John watched Sherlock go and then shook his head. "No. Not really." He answered, a grimace coming to his face. His gaze fixed itself on the wall as memories began to assault him.

"Right." Mary said quietly, dipping her head. "See you later, John." She closed the door quietly and headed down to follow Sherlock to the meeting.

John sighed and leaned his head back against his seat. His eyes drifted shut automatically. He'd been hoping things would just return to normal between him and Sherlock. After he'd read Sherlock's letters he'd immediately written Sherlock another one. He'd apologized over and over again. He couldn't count how many times the word 'sorry' had been in his letter. He apologized for giving up. He apologized for being careless. He blamed himself for the whole ordeal and tried to convince Sherlock that none of the fault was his. That what had happened to John was his fault and his fault alone. Well, his and the Death Eaters around them. Sherlock had of course tried to deny it and blame it all on himself, but eventually they had gone back to the banter that they usually held. John had hoped that would be the end of it and that it wouldn't be brought up again unless absolutely necessary, but it was quickly becoming obvious that it wasn't. He heaved another sigh. He should have known better.

John tried not to think about it too much. He focused on the gentle rocking of the train instead. He soon found himself nodding off. It wasn't hard for him to find sleep these days. The difficult part was staying asleep…

Sherlock knew the moment it happened. He felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the noise. He froze for a moment, looking around to make sure he'd _actually _heard it and he simply wasn't hearing an echo of his memories. But then the noise echoed through the hall again and he saw the looks of confusion on the other's faces.

He bolted to his feet and tore out of the door, roughly shoving anyone who was in his way. "JOHN!" he yelled. He hurdled over the trolley lady's cart of snacks and continued his sprint down the long hallway. John's screams were getting louder and he could see a group of students starting to form at the end of the train. The group parted when they saw him coming, giving him access to the room. He banged against the wall with the speed of his run before he managed to stop and enter the room. John was standing, his wand held out. (His chest was heaving and sweat was pouring down his face. He was standing straight, not favoring his right leg as he had been. No hunch in his shoulders. There was no tremor evident in his hand. Tears were brimming in his eyes. His eyes were unfocused, as if seeing straight through the walls around him.) He had a student cornered in the compartment who appeared to have a sprained (potentially broken) wrist. He was huddled in the corner, holding his wrist protectively to his chest. "STOP IT. JUST _STOP IT_." John yelled. Besides his heavy breathing the Gryffindor stood completely still. His wand was leveled at the boy's chest and did not waver from its position.

Sherlock held his hands up in a placating gesture before he moved forward. He could hear some yelling and shuffling in the hallways as the other Prefects made their way down the hall to assess the situation for themselves. "John." He said, his voice low and even. "John, can you hear me?"

"Obviously he can hear you." The boy in the corner snarled. Sherlock had to resist the urge to groan. Anderson.

"Anderson, don't speak out loud. You lower the IQ of the entire school population." Sherlock then turned his full attention to John who was still heaving. (His breath was coming too quickly. He was going to pass out soon if he didn't act quickly.) "John, you're still dreaming." He said, his voice louder this time. He carefully reached a hand out to touch John's shoulder. The boy flinched and then turned so fast even Sherlock had a hard time processing it. He had just enough time to duck the punch that should have hit him square in the jaw. "_John._" Sherlock begged, putting his hands back up. "John, please listen to me. You're still dreaming. You're safe, John. You're safe on the Hogwarts Express. No one is going to hurt you. I promise." He saw Anderson get up and stumble from the compartment while John was distracted. John's wand slowly lowered and he blinked dazedly a few times. Sherlock reached out and took John's shoulders, gently guiding him to sit. (Breathing slowing, pupils returning to normal size.) Someone touched Sherlock's shoulder and he saw Mary standing there with a glass of water.

John blinked once more and suddenly his brow knitted in confusion. "Sherlock?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse. He looked around to see Mary there and then the large group of students that had gathered outside the compartment. His gaze turned down to his hands and he looked appalled at the sight of his wand in his hand. "Oh my god." He breathed, eyes widening in panic. "I-I fell asleep, I didn't…" His gaze flickered over to the students at the doorway. All eyes were on him. Sherlock saw his gaze and went to the door. "What are you all looking at?!" He roared before slamming it shut. It was a miracle the door didn't break.

"It's okay, John." Mary said quietly. She sat beside him and then offered him the glass of water. John's tremor had returned and he almost spilled the water before he managed to gulp some of it down. Sherlock was still standing by the door looking shaken. John handed the water back to Mary before he could spill it and Mary placed it out of harm's way. She placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed soothing circles across his back. She knew it was an intimate motion, but also knew that John needed the comfort more.

Sherlock then came to stand in front of John, crouching so he was on eye level with him. His all-seeing gaze swept over the now trembling Gryffindor, making sure his vitals were returning to normal. (Blood pressure, heart rate, breathing rate…) John swallowed thickly, fighting back tears, but did meet Sherlock's gaze. "Are you alright?" Sherlock asked. He reached his hand out as if to touch John's shoulder, but then he brought it back to himself.

John nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." He assured, his voice shaking. He was obviously not okay, but Sherlock wasn't going to press the matter. He began his nervous pacing once more, hand running through his thick curls. Mary sat in silence, continuing her gentle massage across John's back.

A small choked noise escaped John's lips and he clapped a hand over his mouth. " 'm sorry." He said through his hand. He closed his eyes, willing the tears not to come. Sherlock froze in his pacing and turned his back to John as he felt tears of his own prick at his eyes. _'I did this to him. He wouldn't be going through this if it weren't for me.' _He thought as he released a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

It was then that Mary realized she was missing something. She'd heard about John's injury at the Battle of Hogwarts last year. It seemed like everyone knew about it. Especially with the circumstances surrounding his injury. But there was something else to it. There had to be. Something had happened between these two friends and it was obvious they weren't about to sort it out. "It's okay." Mary said quietly, turning her gaze from Sherlock's back to John. "You can cry. It's alright." Another sob soon escaped John. Mary wrapped him in a hug, pulling John so that his head was buried in her chest and effectively shielded from anyone who may come in to the compartment. John wrapped a trembling arm around Mary's middle.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the reviews everyone! I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying it so far. :) I promise this chapter has a better ending than the last two.

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It took several long minutes for John to calm down. Sherlock stayed standing, facing the opposite wall, still as a statue. John pulled away from Mary and swiped at his face with the sleeve of his robe. Mary then reached down for the glass of water again and John took it gratefully, holding it in his good hand. The other rested on his knee, trembling slightly. "I'm sorry." He murmured again, feeling the need to apologize for his outburst. His ears were slowly beginning to turn red with embarrassment. Now _everyone _was going to know he was weak and unable to control himself. A freak damaged by war.

"John, really. You don't have to apologize." Mary assured. Her hand reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder before going back to her lap once more. Mary had started to begin feeling like she was intruding. Honestly, she didn't know John all that well. They'd just started to get to know each other last year. (She sort of fancied John, but she wouldn't tell him that.) And now she'd just witnessed something extremely private. Something John probably didn't want _anyone _to see. "All of us who were at school last year… We all have our own types of scars. Yours are just deeper than the rest. I'm sure everyone understands…"

John mumbled a 'thanks' but he didn't seem too convinced. He sniffled and rubbed at his nose once more before his attention turned to Sherlock. His brow furrowed in concern and he got to his feet, swaying slightly. "Sherlock?" he asked quietly. He reached out to touch Sherlock's shoulder, gently turning him to face John. Sherlock had his eyes squeezed shut, but tears were running down his cheeks. At the sight of the tears John felt like someone had taken his heart and slowly began to rip it in two. His chest literally began to ache. "Sherlock…" he said again, more gentle this time.

Sherlock's eyes opened to reveal blue orbs swimming with unshed tears. "John, this is all my fault." He said, voice tight with emotion. "If I wouldn't have… if I would have paid more attention-"

"No." John said firmly, holding both of Sherlock's shoulders. "No, you listen to me, Sherlock. Everything that's happened to me was my doing and my doing alone. How many times do I have to tell you this? Yes, what I did I did to save you. But it was _my _choice." John said, voice cracking near the end. He pushed a breath through his nose and then took a step back, releasing Sherlock. He put his hands on his hips and stared at the floor. It was easy to tell that both of the boys had a hard time expressing their feelings and that this was a rare moment for them. "Sherlock," John's voice demanded the Slytherin's full attention. "Even now, after I have gone through all the consequences of my actions, the nightmares and the pain… I would do it _all _over again. Just to save you." He swallowed thickly and made sure Sherlock's eyes were still on his. "Understood?"

Sherlock nodded. His eyes were obviously drinking in each and every one of John's details to make sure he was telling the total and complete truth. Making sure he wasn't lying. And then suddenly it was as if a switch was flipped and Sherlock was standing upright, looking his normal self. He pointed at John's leg. "You've forgotten about your limp. You're distributing your weight evenly on both legs. You weren't favoring one leg over the other when you were dreaming either." He then raised his finger to point at John's head. "All in the mind."

John frowned and suddenly found his leg burst with a sharp pain. He moved more of his weight onto the other and realized Sherlock was right. He _had _forgotten about it. "It's part of the after effects of the curse." John said with a shrug, scrambling to come up with an excuse. "It's just something that happens now. I can't fix it." He moved to take his seat by Mary again, his limp back once more. He looked over to Mary and started to realize she was feeling a bit awkward. She was shifting a bit nervously in her seat, her face slightly flushed. He cleared his throat and said quietly, "Sorry you had to see all that." as Sherlock began to pace, muttering under his breath as he went.

Mary blushed slightly and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Uh, it's okay. I just feel a bit like I'm intruding."

John reached out and squeezed her hand. "Not intruding at all." He assured, giving her a warm smile that only a Watson could give. Mary's face got a bit red before she nodded, a small smile coming to her face as well. John thought he saw Sherlock roll his eyes.

The rest of the train ride passed uneventfully. Sherlock took most of John's luggage before he could argue. Mary even took one of John's bags so all that John was left with was his owl cage. He lifted the cover to make sure Gladstone had survived the journey. He looked a bit offended, but fine all the same. The trio then made it out to the carriages that took them to the castle. No one said anything about being able to see the thestrals this year, but no one had to.

John felt anxiety twisting his gut as their carriage came closer and closer to the castle. He had been watching out the window, but after specific scenery began to trigger some memories he switched his gaze to the floor. He could still hear the screams of the battle ringing through his head. The blood on his hands of the people he'd tried to save. The laughter of the Death Eaters. The pain of the _cruciatus _curse. He felt Sherlock's concerned gaze on him and Mary's hand reach over to squeeze his. "You okay, John? You look a bit peaking."

John swallowed and quickly nodded. "I'm fine." He managed, voice a bit hoarse.

Everything else passed in a blur. It was all too soon that John was being separated from Sherlock and Mary. Sherlock sat at the nearly empty Slytherin table and Mary joined her fellow Ravenclaws. John sat at the empty end of the Gryffindor table. He could feel eyes on him from seemingly every direction. He even caught a few pointing and whispering. He ducked his head and lowered his gaze to the table as he began to trace the pattern in the wood. He didn't pay much attention. At least not until after the Sorting Hat had done its job and everyone was sitting.

Headmistress McGonagall came to the center podium and began to speak. "Last school year was a difficult time for all of our students." She began. "Our school was shaken to its very foundation both literally and figuratively. Family and friends were lost…" she let her voice trail off. It looked as though tears were springing to her eyes. "But, here we are. Another school year. And though we may not be as many, we are still just as strong." John could see a few of the students smiling at each other. He looked over his shoulder to meet Sherlock's gaze. The Slytherin gave him a nod as if to say, 'We made it. We're here.' McGonagall went into detail about all of the events this year and explaining House points to the first years. "However, due to the events that occurred last year, there will be some changes. First off, during breakfast and lunch, there will be no table assignments. Any student may sit wherever and with whomever they please. Dinner will carry on as usual simply for the sake of the House Cup. This change is taking place due to the fact that the battle last year brought to my attention the division between houses. Students were and still are judging other students simply based on what house they are from and not on their actual character." She explained. A few whispers broke out through the Great Hall and McGonagall waited until they had ceased to continue. "The next change is that every student involved in the Battle of Hogwarts last year will have a mandatory therapy session." Groans echoed through the Hall. She motioned to her left and a woman sat up from her seat. "This is Professor Ella Thompson. She will be in charge of these sessions." McGonagall turned to Professor Thompson and motioned for her to come forward, quietly asking her to explain.

"Only the first session is mandatory for everyone." Professor Thompson clarified. "If you attend your first session and you pass, you won't have to come back. Headmistress McGonagall and I aren't trying to make you all miserable. We're simply trying to find the students who need help and give it to them."

John groaned and thunked his forehead down onto the table. He was going to be in therapy forever.

Dinner, just like the second half of the train ride, passed uneventfully much to John's displeasure. He was hoping something would happen in order to get his mind off of the train ride. The horrible nightmares that had startled him awake. He shivered and continued to pick at the meager portions he'd served himself. He was never really very hungry these days. The lack of sleep made him nauseous most of the time. Soon enough the Prefects were leading the first years up to the dorms. John was getting up to leave when he felt someone catch his arm. He turned to find Sherlock. He pressed a vial into his hand before whispering, "It's a sleeping potion. Drink the entire bottle. It has a rather bad after taste, but I promise it's worth it."

John blinked a few times as his brain caught up with Sherlock's fast talking. He looked down at the dark blue liquid in the small vial. "No nightmares?" he asked.

"No nightmares. Tried it myself." Sherlock said. He gave John's arm a squeeze before disappearing into the rest of the crowd. John found himself smiling down at the vial in his hand. Sleep. He would finally be getting some sleep. But then it hit him. Sherlock was still having nightmares.

John sighed heavily and slipped the small vial into his robe pocket. He then began his slow limp up to Gryffindor Tower. It took him a good fifteen minutes to make it there and he was exhausted by the time he did. He was more than glad to find his luggage already in his room by his bed. He could see some luggage at the other beds, but no one else had gone to bed yet. It wasn't a surprise. Most older Gryffindor's stayed up till an ungodly hour the first night in order to catch up on each other's summers.

John changed out of his robes and into a pair of comfortable pajamas. He then took the vial and gulped it down as quickly as possible. He winced at the after taste. (Sherlock was right. It tasted like an awful case of morning breath.) He slipped under the covers of his bed and then pulled the curtains, submerging himself in blissful darkness. He took a deep breath and rolled onto his stomach. He tucked both of his arms beneath his pillow. He was worried about screaming himself awake or waking to find that he'd strangled one of his housemates in his sleep. But Sherlock had promised and out of everyone in this world, he trusted Sherlock the most. And so John allowed his eyes to drift shut. It only took a few moments before he felt the potion begin to work.

So it was that John got his first restful sleep in months, snoring softly (and drooling) into his pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for no updates recently, guys! I'm a senior in high school and with graduation coming up I've got a ton of stuff to do. I've been quite busy with that _and _I ended up with an ear infection over the weekend. So I was going to update then, but I had super bad medicine head and I probably wouldn't have made any sense. Hahaha.

Anyway! Enjoy the chapter! :) You'll get some John and Mary history in this chapter and a bit of teasing at the event that caused John's injuries.

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Sherlock was slightly concerned.

No, more than slightly. He was _very _concerned.

John had been a no show at breakfast which was extremely unusual. John _always _ate breakfast. He had eggs, sausage, toast with strawberry jam, and the occasional waffle every morning without fail. _Every _morning. (Honestly, it made Sherlock sick thinking about eating the exact same thing every morning for days on end.) Unless he'd eaten something the night before that didn't agree with him. Then he'd just eat toast lathered in jam.

The fact that he'd given John a sleeping potion last night did nothing to ease his worry. What if the potion had been _too_ strong? What if he'd overdosed John? What if he was trapped in an eternal slumber all thanks to Sherlock? The Slytherin was normally very confident in his work. Especially his Potions. Even he would admit that he was downright arrogant about it most of the time. Normaly he wouldn't sit around and worry like this. In fact, he wouldn't even be thinking about it. But this was _John_.

Sherlock swallowed and tried to focus on the book that was in front of him. He had to remind himself of where he was. Class. He was supposed to be learning. Ancient Runes, or something. When he looked up he realized he was in fact in Transfiguration, not Ancient Runes. His gaze flickered to the empty seat beside him. It was his last class before supper and John still hadn't shown. Sherlock was bouncing his knee anxiously, fingers tapping against the wood of the desk in front of him. When the professor dismissed them from class Sherlock was up and out of his seat so fast that the chair he was sitting in actually fell over.

He didn't go to supper, instead bolting up the many long staircases to Gryffindor Tower. He approached the picture of the Fat Lady and quickly rattled off the password. "_A crastino_." He'd overheard the exchange of the password during the Prefect's meeting in the train. It was Latin for 'a new tomorrow.' Sherlock supposed it was made this due to the battle last year and the effort of the professors to make sure all of their students stayed positive and hopeful, but he doubted most of the students knew enough Latin to appreciate it. The painting swung open and Sherlock hurriedly went inside. He took the steps up to John's room two at a time, simply brushing off the few people in the common room. He reached the closed door where the sixth year Gryffindor's stayed and paused. He steadied his breathing and simply listened for a moment. He didn't hear anything. No chatter. Everyone was probably down at supper.

He then carefully opened the door, making sure it didn't squeak. Just as he suspected, he found John still asleep. He took quiet steps to John's side. His curtain was pulled back slightly, the sun shining through onto John's face, but it didn't disturb the slumbering boy at all. Sherlock pulled the curtain back more so he would have complete access to John.

Sherlock laid a hand on John's forehead to check for fever, but found none. John's cheeks were a bit flushed, but Sherlock put that off to the amount of time John had spent underneath of his thick blankets. Next Sherlock checked John's pulse. He held his own breath as he counted, feeling John's strong heart beat thud against his fingers. He breathed a sigh of relief. Completely normal. He supposed he must have just over calculated John's dosage. Sherlock had created the potion over the summer after he'd started having horrible nightmares himself. Anytime Sherlock found it necessary to sleep he would brew himself a potion. He'd done this enough times that his brain had trained itself to simply not dream whenever he was asleep. He'd been sleeping fine without a potion until the day he'd broken into St. Mungo's to see John. He'd had to start the whole process over again after that.

Sherlock gave a small, relieved sigh. "Sleep well, John." He said quietly.

John made no reaction, simply continuing to snore (quite loudly) with his face mashed rather unattractively against his pillow. Sherlock, in a moment of sentiment, carefully rearranged John. He'd been sprawled out across his bed, one of his legs dangling off so that his foot was touching the floor. Sherlock carefully maneuvered John so that he was lying on his back and his neck wasn't twisted at such an awkward angle. He put John's leg back into its proper place on the bed and then pulled his blanket tight around him. John's only response was to snuffle and then drag his hand lazily across his mouth to try and rid his cheek of the drool that had collected there. Sherlock gave out a small chuckle, extremely relieved his friend was finally getting the rest he deserved and sorely needed.

A voice spoke up then and Sherlock nearly jumped out of his skin.

Mary had been the first of the trio to arrive at breakfast. She'd waved at Sherlock when he entered and he'd taken a seat across from her. "Morning." She said, giving Sherlock a cheery smile. Sherlock merely _hmph_'d in response. Mary contained a sigh. In her short time of knowing Sherlock, she'd soon realized that he was not a people person. Especially first thing in the morning. "Have you seen John?" she asked, continuing to pick at her breakfast. "I mean, after everything that happened yesterday, I'm sure he's still a bit shaken, ya know? Nightmares can really shake a person up."

Sherlock was spreading butter onto his toast when he froze. His gaze came up to meet Mary's and his eyes narrowed slightly. "You haven't seen John?" he asked.

Mary resisted the urge to sigh when she thought about her and John's relationship. Mary was two years below John and Sherlock, only a fourth year. They'd had a few encounters throughout the years, but they didn't see each other often being that they were in different houses and years. A few chats here and there mostly at Quidditch matches was all for a while. Until last year. Last year had been the start of Mary's transformation from girl into woman. She'd developed curves and a chest and had therefore been more noticed by boys. On her way out of Potions she'd found herself cornered by two Slytherin boys who's dorms weren't too far away. She'd been about to punch one of them square in the nose when a voice echoed down the hall. "Oi! What are you two doing?" His voice was _strong_. He didn't have to tell the boys to scatter. The command was in the tone of his voice. Mary remembered seeing both of the boy's eyes widen before they disappeared in a flash. When John came to stand in front of Mary however, he was gentle as could be. There was no threatening tone about him. "You alright?" he asked, voice low. It was in that moment that Mary felt the first inklings of a liking towards John.

Last year had also been the Battle of Hogwarts. Mary had only been 14. She'd been in the process of being evacuated from the castle when she'd slipped away. She'd almost been back to the Great Hall when John had caught her. He'd grabbed her by the shoulders, hunching slightly so he was eye to eye with her. "You can't be here." He'd told her firmly, that same commanding tone in his voice. "It's too dangerous, Mary. You need to go with the others."

Mary's face turned red with frustration. "I want to help, John!" she said. "This is my school too!" Tears stung her eyes. "Just because I'm only a third year doesn't mean I'm not useful!"

John gave a small huff. "I know, Mary. Believe me I do, but the best thing you can do right now to help is to go with the others. After this is all done, we'll need you all to help out." He leaned forward and placed a feather light kiss to her forehead. Mary's stomach flipped and knotted. John Watson. Soon-to-be Gryffindor Quidditch Captain had _kissed _her. Mary didn't allow this expression to show, however. She simply gave a nod and made sure her face stayed looking like she was displeased.

"Fine." She said, eyes faltering and going to the ground for a moment as she accepted defeat. She reached up to place a hand on top of John's that was on her shoulder. "Just don't get hurt, okay, John?" she asked.

John had smirked and finally released Mary from his grip. "Can't make any promises." He said, giving her a wink and then darting off once more. Of course, Mary had no intention of going back with the others. She would go up to the Great Hall and help the injured. It was there that Mary would find out that John was anything but okay when she witnessed Sherlock carrying him bridal style into the Great Hall.

Mary shook her head, shaking the memories away as well. "Well of course I haven't seen him. We're not dating or anything. I thought he was with you."

Sherlock shook his head and tried to go back to buttering his bread, though he must have been thinking about something else entirely and ended up spreading the better across his forearm. Mary cleared her throat and nodded her head down at his arm. He flushed and then hurried to grab a napkin. "Something you need to tell me?" Mary asked.

Sherlock worried at his lower lip as he stared down at his toast. "I um, I gave John a sleeping potion last night. He probably just overslept." He said. He didn't sound sure of himself, however.

Mary nodded. "Right…" she said. She watched Sherlock for a moment, noting the worry on his face. It was a bit touching, actually. Sherlock didn't really care about anyone. It was nice to see the change of expression on his face. "I'll go check on him later." She said, but Sherlock was already standing and mumbling something under his breath, toast lying abandoned on the table. Mary couldn't help but chuckle and shake her head. Sherlock definitely needed some lessons in social skills. She quickly finished her breakfast and then headed to her first class. The rest of the day went by incredibly slowly. John was absent from lunch as well. Mary wasn't sure Sherlock even properly processed that he was at lunch. His mind was definitely elsewhere. It was then that Mary decided she would head up to John's dormitory after her last class before supper.

So, after Charms, Mary stole up to Gryffindor Tower. After a short chat and some persuading with the Fat Lady in the portrait, she was allowed entrance to the common room. She asked one of the students there where John's room was and she was quickly pointed in the right direction. She said hello to another one of the students. They all gave her some odd looks, but didn't say anything about her presence. Mary took a moment to marvel at how different the Gryffindor common room was from the Ravenclaw's. She thought she almost liked Gryffindor's better. It was much homier than the large, airy Ravenclaw common room.

When she approached John's room she found the door slightly cracked. She noiselessly pushed it open and paused when she saw Sherlock already inside. She watched as he checked John's vitals and then made sure John was comfortable. A wide smile came to her face. "He alright?" she asked. Sherlock jumped and Mary was afraid he would bash his head against the bunk above John's. "Sorry!" Mary said quietly, though Mary was pretty sure she could shout and she wouldn't disturb John. He was well and truly out of it.

Sherlock cleared his throat and turned to face Mary. He pulled nervously at the collar of his shirt. "I was, uh just making sure I didn't accidentally kill him."

Mary couldn't help but chuckle. "Ya, I saw." She said, giving him a fond smile. Sherlock blushed, his face quickly turning scarlet. "Come on. Let's go get some dinner." Sherlock nodded and quickly followed Mary out of the room, but not before making sure the curtains around John's bed were completely pulled and he had shut the door quietly.

The next morning Mary and Sherlock were seated at the breakfast table when John walked in. "Good morning!" he announced loudly, a wide grin spread across his face as he took his seat beside Sherlock and across from Mary.

"Someone's cheery today." Mary said with a small laugh.

John nodded, heaping large portions of food onto his plate. "Yes I am. I am _very _cheery." He answered. "I had the best night's sleep of my life."

Mary and Sherlock shared a glance before they both started to laugh. John frowned and looked between the two before reaching up to make sure his hair wasn't sticking up at some obscure angle. "What?" he asked, cheeks turning a bit red.

"You missed a whole Wednesday, John." Sherlock said. "Didn't have a clue."

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Fun Fact: I looked up the calendar for 1998. Student's arrive on September 1st so the first day of classes would be the 2nd. September 2nd, 1998 was in fact a Wednesday. ;) John _literally _missed a Wednesday.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the delay, guys! I've been very busy, like I said before. But as a make up present, I should be uploading another chapter tonight as long as I keep up with my writing streak. :) This chapter took me a while to figure out, but I'm satisfied with it.

Also, I'd like to thank everyone for the lovely reviews! They all mean so much to me! Enjoy the chapter!

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The room was big. Too big, John thought, for only two people. The ceilings were high with two tall windows on the back wall. The windows were separated by a fireplace. The room was decorated in shades of brown. The wallpaper was a light brown with a floral white design on it. The curtains were more of a coffee color of brown. The floor was a light colored wood with a beige shag carpet. Even the chairs were a shade of brown. And they definitely were not comfortable.

John had noticed all this because he was definitely not interested in anything Professor Thompson had to say. It was his third therapy class. The class was only once a week, but John felt like it lasted an eternity. His leg would throb more on Tuesdays than any other day. His nightmares were worse that night than any other night of the week. He'd had to sound proof his curtains so he wouldn't disturb his fellow sixth years. Sherlock was still working on getting a lower dosage of potion for John. However, John was sleeping better than before he took the first potion. It was as if his body had realized that it could in fact sleep without giving him night terrors. Sometimes he'd sleep through the night with little incident, but never on a Tuesday.

John's first therapy class had been…difficult. He knew he wasn't going to pass and so he simply didn't put forth any effort. But Professor Thompson was keen on trying to pry information from him. He'd entered the room and instantly felt her eyes on him. He cleared his throat and then limped to her desk. "Uh, I'm John Watson. I'm here for my therapy class." He said.

"Oh yes. Hello." She greeted before motioning in front of her to where two chairs were positioned in front of the fire place. "Go ahead and have a seat."

John nodded and carefully lowered himself into a chair. His hand came down automatically to begin rubbing his sore knee. He slouched back into the seat, his expression revealing the fact he was not happy about being here. Professor Thompson then took a seat in the other chair. "John, I'm going to begin with a few questions. If you pass," John couldn't help the bitter chuckle that escaped his lips. "-you don't have to come back for another session. Almost everyone has passed so far. So just relax, okay?"

John made a vague motion with his hand. "Fire away." He slouched back in his seat, making sure he looked as disinterested as possible.

He watched Professor Thompson who was already scribbling something onto her notepad. John's brow furrowed minutely as he watched her. She was using a ballpoint pen on yellow notepad. Muggle material. Professor Thompson seemed to catch his gaze. "I attended school here at Hogwarts a while ago, but then I also attended a Muggle university to study the mind and how it works." She explained. "I promise that everything said in this room is completely confidential. No students or professors will hear anything you tell me unless you give me permission. Do you understand, John?" John crossed his arms over his chest in a classic defensive position, but nodded. "Right. My first question is: were you involved in the battle here at the school last year?"

John couldn't help but scoff. "You saw me walk in here." He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't just wake up one day with a limp."

Professor Thompson frowned slightly, but made no other comments on it. She simply scribbled something onto her notepad. John made it out to read _trust issues_. His frown deepened. Where had that come from? He discerned a few more of her scribbles. _Defensive. Limp. Tremor in left hand_. He thought he read something about being underweight, but he couldn't be entirely sure. "Can you tell me about the injuries you sustained during the battle?" she asked, voice still very calm.

"I can." John replied. He didn't like this woman. He wasn't going to make this easy for her. He sat in silence until the Professor seemed to realize he wasn't going to explain.

"Can you elaborate for me?"

John shook his head.

Professor Thompson gave a bit of an exasperated sigh. "Look, John, I know you don't want to be here, but if you at least cooperate with me we can get this over with as quickly as possible."

John lifted a brow. "I won't have to come back?"

"I didn't say that."

Things didn't progress very much from there. The second session went just as well. The third, where he was now, went a bit differently.

Professor Thompson had simply sat in her chair and asked, "What happened to you, John?" When John didn't answer, she didn't press. She simply sat there expectantly.

After nearly two hours of silence passed, John huffed in defeat. His arms uncrossed and he let them rest in his lap. The tremor in his hand was very noticeable. He slid it beneath his thigh in an attempt to hide it. He then sighed and looked down at the floor. _'Treat it like it's not you. Say it like you're talking about another person, not yourself.' _He told himself. That was probably the only way he was going to make it through this. "I was in St. Mungo's for four months, roughly." His voice was quiet and clinical when he spoke. "I was struck with the _cruciatus _curse and held under intermittently for ten minutes. I was then hit on my left shoulder and held under the curse for a solid twenty minutes. Or so I'm told… I don't remember much." His gaze stayed firmly fixed on the floor. Even just talking about it caused emotion to well up in him. He was almost positive that was the first time the name of that awful curse had rolled off his lips since the incident.

When Professor Thompson spoke her voice was gentle, "To survive that long under the torture curse is a feat in itself, John."

"Yeah. That's what everyone says." John snapped. His features were suddenly filled with anger as he looked up at the Professor. "That's _all _anyone says. They don't ask me how I'm doing or if I'm alright, they just tell me 'It's a miracle you survived, John! Good job, man.' And leave it at that." He spat. Now that he was talking it was hard to stop. "Or else they stare at me like I'm a freak of nature. My housemates won't even talk to me because they can-" His voice broke and he had to pause to gather himself. He hurriedly wiped at his eyes before the tears there could fall. "They can hear me scream at night. I-I tried to sound proof my curtains, but apparently it didn't work. They even went to McGonagall behind my back to see if they could kick me out into my own 'private room' because I was _disturbing_ them. They're supposed to be my friends!" he cried.

Professor Thompson seemed to be lost for words for a moment. John abruptly stood from his chair, heading for the door. "John, wait!" Professor Thompson called.

"I'm done talking." He snapped, slamming the door shut behind him.

Sherlock was sitting in one of the many courtyards at Hogwarts. It was usually pretty populated with students travelling from class to class. No one usually stuck around for long. He was seated beneath a tree, book in his lap. John was to meet him here after his therapy class. He'd invited Mary as well, who was seated next to him. John was always irritated and shaken after his therapy class and Mary had a way of comforting John that Sherlock simply could not do.

Sherlock had begun to notice a change in John's behavior because of these forced therapy classes last week. The first week John had simply been frustrated, the second week more so. He had even noticed that John barely ate on Tuesdays anymore, worry about the class causing nausea to twist the boy's guts. This therapy wasn't good for him. It was just causing him to stress out more.

Mary sighed. "John was supposed to be here a half an hour ago." She said, putting her own book down to look at Sherlock. "Do you think he's alright?"

Sherlock nodded. "He'll come when he's ready." He answered.

Mary sighed again, but went back to her reading. "If you say so."

It wasn't long before Sherlock felt a presence beside him. He looked up, expecting to see John but found something else entirely. He rolled his eyes and closed his book. "What is it now?" he asked sarcastically.

It was Anderson and Donovan. Both stood shoulder to shoulder with their arms crossed. "We're making sure you're not up to something, _freak_." Donovan spat.

"Never know with a Slytherin." Anderson echoed, a snide look on his face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "Listen, both of you. I'm a Prefect. If you insist on continuing I'll just deduct points from your house _and _give you detention." This didn't seem to make an impact on either of them. It was a lie anyhow. Yes, Sherlock was a Prefect, but neither of the two were from his house. He could give them detention, but he couldn't deduct house points. He thought it would scare them off, but apparently it didn't. Sherlock frowned, put his book aside, and then stood. His hand twitched at his side, ready to make a grab for his wand. He saw Mary put her hand in the pocket of her robe, also ready to fire off a spell. He squinted his eyes at the both of them, reading them as best he could. "Right then. What did you_ really _come here for?"

"What did you do to John Watson?" Donovan asked.

Sherlock was taken aback. His face was shocked for a few moments before it morphed into anger. "What… What do you _mean_ what did I do to him?" he asked.

"C'mon, Sherlock. You may as well spill the beans. Everyone knows." Anderson pressed.

"I have no idea what you two _imbeciles_ are talking about." Sherlock spat, his face turning red with anger.

"John, he's all messed up in the head, ya?" Donovan started. "Everyone knows you're the one that did it to him, freak."

Mary shot to her feet, "Listen here, you-you _mudblood_." She hated the word. She'd never actually used it before, but was extremely pleased with herself when she saw the anger cross both Anderson and Donovan's faces. Apparently she'd struck a chord. "You don't know a thing about John, or Sherlock for that matter, so you shut _your mouth_." She threatened, enunciating her words slowly and carefully, making sure each held the anger she was feeling. Despite having to stand on her tiptoes to get in Donovan's face, she still looked threatening. Anderson even took a step back. Sherlock gently grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back to his side. (Mary could tell he was secretly pleased.) Sherlock's mind was racing to figure out the best way to solve this situation. He schooled his features as best he could to try and look in control of his anger.

Donovan sneered at Mary. "Don't defend the freak. Not when you don't know the truth."

Mary whipped out her wand, pointing it straight at Donovan. "Say one more word. I _dare_ you."

"Tell us what really happened then, Sherlock." Anderson challenged.

Sherlock to the normal person appeared very cool, calm, and collected. However anyone who had spent time with the Slytherin would easily recognize the signs of an intense, burning anger. "Why do you think I did it?" he asked, a small portion of the anger he was feeling seeping into his voice. "Just because I'm a Slytherin? Because all the Death Eaters I said were present are dead and therefore I have no witnesses?"

"A Slytherin and a Gryffindor disappear together. The Gryffindor comes back severely injured and certifiably insane." Donovan snarled. Mary's grip tightened on her wand and Sherlock made a motion with his hand to tell her to wait. "What's the logical conclusion there?" the Gryffindor finished.

Sherlock took a deep breath in through his nose and then released it. He slowly brought his hand up to his forehead, pulling back his mess of curls to expose his left temple. There was a deep scar there. It was still a fresh pink color. "You see this?" he asked, making sure he made eye contact with both Anderson and Donovan. "John Watson was injured saving my life. That is all I will tell you and that is all you need to know." He brought his hand back down to his side, his other hand gripping his wand inside of his robe pocket. "You'll both be serving detention tonight." He continued. "Enjoy yourselves."

Donovan "Hmp'd" and then spun on her heel, heading back from where she'd come. Anderson narrowed his eyes at Sherlock before turning to follow Donovan. Once the two were gone Sherlock released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Mary seemed to deflate as well, but anger still shone in her eyes. "That's ridiculous!" she cried out. "You two are best friends! Why in the world do people think you hurt John?" she asked.

Sherlock didn't say a word. He simply stormed off in a flurry of robes, hoping no one saw the tears prickling at his eyes. Because he _had _done this to John. If he wouldn't have been so careless… He shook his head and made his way as quickly as he could to his dorm.

Mary sat beneath the tree for another thirty minutes before John showed up. Anger was still bubbling through her veins. The _nerve _of some people! However her anger soon faded as soon as she laid eyes on John. He looked _terrible_. His eyes were red from crying and he was pale as a ghost. "John!" she said as she stood once more. She quickly ran to meet him at the edge of the courtyard. "John, are you okay? You look terrible!"

John was biting down on his lower lip. He looked around the courtyard, seeing it was empty save for the two of them. "Where's Sherlock?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Mary didn't want to upset John anymore so she simply said, "I'll explain later, okay?" She then wrapped him in a hug, hands rubbing across his back. John was quick to hug her back.

"I _hate_ therapy." He said, his voice cracking in the middle.

"Shh." Mary soothed, continuing to rub circles across his back. "I know, I know. But you can get through it. I know you can, John." She pulled back from the hug so that she could look up at John's face. It was obvious he was struggling to hold back tears. She felt her heart break at the sight. She reached her hand up to gently caress his cheek. John's eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into the light touch. "Why don't we find someplace more private to talk, okay?" Mary suggested.

John nodded, moving one of his hands to rest atop Mary's hand that was on his face. "Okay." He agreed quietly. His eyes opened and he said, "I know a pretty good place."


	6. Chapter 6

Did I promise you two chapters in one night or what? ;) This chapter is a bit darker than the last ones. We finally find out what happened to John, but only from his side of things. You'll have to wait for Sherlock's. (Muwahahahaha) There's also a bit of JohnxMary fluff in this chapter. As always, enjoy!

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John had brought Mary to the Gryffindor Tower where he'd had her wait in the commons room until he returned. He came back with his broom in hand. With his other hand he held Mary's, leading her along down the halls. It was slow progress, John's limp worse today than normal. It always was with these stupid therapy classes. Eventually they made it outside through a side door Mary hadn't known existed. John sat on his broom, hovering just above the ground. "Ever fly with someone else before?" John asked. Mary shook her head and John smiled. "Right. Come here." Mary stepped over to him cautiously. John was beginning to sense she wasn't a huge fan of flying. When she was close enough John reached out to pick her up by the waist. Mary made a small squeal and John couldn't help but giggle. He sat her on his lap so that she was facing him and Mary instinctively hooked her legs around his so that she wouldn't fall off. John moved his hands off of Mary's waist to grasp the broomstick behind her. Mary leaned forward and wrapped her arms around John's torso. "Don't let me fall off." She said, hiding her face in John's shoulder. Firstly because her face was bright red and her ears were beginning to burn and secondly because she was deathly afraid of heights.

John laughed. "Not a fan of flying?" he asked. He gently began to let the broom lift into the air. The broom moved gently and it almost didn't feel like they were moving at all.

"Flying, I'm okay with. Heights are a different story." Mary answered honestly.

John moved one of his hands from the broom stick to press Mary closer to him. "I won't let you fall." He assured.

John gently guided the broomstick higher and then forward. He kept the ride smooth and slow, for Mary's sake. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. "Where are we going?" she asked, face still hidden in John's shoulder.

"Well you might know if you would look." John teased lightly as he brought his broom to a stop. "We're not that high, I promise."

Mary cautiously picked her head up and her eyes widened. "Oh, John." She breathed.

The two were hovering just above the water's surface of the lake below Hogwarts. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon and the stars and moon reflected beautifully against the water. John then gently began to glide across the water's surface, slipping his foot off of the footrest and dipping the toe of his shoe into the water, skimming it across the top.

"It's beautiful." Mary said, turning wide eyes to John.

John smiled. "I thought you'd like it." Mary loosened her grip around John's torso so that she could see John's face fully. She studied him for a moment, narrowing her eyes slightly. "What?" John asked, lifting a brow.

"This isn't how I'm supposed to be sitting is it?" She asked.

A light pink came to John's cheeks. "Well technically passengers are supposed to sit behind the driver…" he started.

Mary laughed and swatted John playfully. "You just wanted me in your lap!"

"I didn't want you to fall off!" John protested with a laugh. "But that may have been part of the reason."

After the laughter faded Mary reached up to caress John's cheek, just like she'd done before. John leaned fully into her hand and Mary's thumb stroked across his cheek. The two sat in silence for a moment, simply hovering atop the water. John moved his hands from the broom stick so that he could sit upright. His hands came to rest on Mary's waist, making sure she stayed balanced.

John pulled his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, making a quick decision. He then leaned forward, placing his lips lightly against Mary's. Mary pressed back, her free hand coming around to cup the back of John's neck. She brought John closer to her, deepening the kiss. When they pulled apart, John rested his forehead against Mary's, his eyes closed.

"You know we're supposed to be talking." Mary said quietly. "Talking about you."

John nodded. "I know." He gave a small sigh. "Can we just sit here for a minute?"

"Of course, John." Mary said. "Whatever you need."

Mary continued caress John's cheek with one hand. Her other hand slipped from his neck to rub gentle circles between his shoulder blades. She'd never done this with anyone before and simply acted on instinct and what she'd seen other people do. Some of the tension seemed to seep from John's shoulders and so she assumed he was enjoying it. Five minutes passed before John spoke.

"Alright. I'm ready to talk."

Using just his feet, he guided his broom down farther and he came to rest on a rock that protruded from the lake. It was isolated, but they could still see the castle from this spot. Mary slid off the broom first and then John followed. John sat down with his legs bent so that he could rest his arms on his knees. Mary sat beside him. She leaned her head against his shoulder, bringing her hand up to rub John's upper arm. She knew this was going to be difficult for him and she wanted him to know that she was here for him.

"Before you start, I have something to tell you." Mary started. She supposed it was best to get this out of the way now. "There are rumors going around the school that Sherlock's the one that cursed you."

John went stiff at once, his head snapping around to look at her. "_What_?!"

Mary nodded, lifting her head to look up at him. "That's why Sherlock wasn't waiting for you. Sally Donovan and that Anderson kid came over to confront him about it. It was very close to getting nasty, but Sherlock managed to get them to go away without any spells flying." She explained. "It's because he's a Slytherin. People this year that survived the battle, saw what Voldemort and his Death Eaters did… It scared them and now they're just pushing their fear onto the next available target and that's the Slytherins."

John shook his head. "I can't believe that… Why would people think Sherlock hurt me? That's just flat out ridiculous."

Mary nodded. "I agree. But, people don't often see best friends that are from Gryffindor and Slytherin. It just doesn't happen very often so that makes people suspicious, I guess." She reasoned allowed.

John simply shook his head again, turning his gaze out to the lake. Mary waited a moment before she reached up and gently guided him to look down at her again. "I need to know what happened, John. For both you and Sherlock's sake."

John watched her for a moment. He pulled his lip between his teeth again and Mary noticed his left hand began to tremble. He swallowed and then nodded. "Okay." He breathed. "Okay." He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. He slowly released his breath and then delved into the story.

_May 2__nd__, 1998_

_The Battle of Hogwarts – John's Story_

"John! John!" The Gryffindor spun on his heel to see a girl running up to him. He recognized her. She was a first year from his house, but she couldn't quite remember her name. It was obvious she was crying. "John! Oliver, he-he… I tried to stop him but he ran outside! He wanted to join the fight." She sniffled and rubbed the tears from her cheeks. "He's only a first year like me, John!"

John bent slightly to place his hands on the girl's shoulders. "I'll find him, okay? Don't you worry. Just go back down with all the other first years, okay?" he said as calmly as he could. The little girl nodded and ran off. He looked up to Sherlock who nodded as he met his gaze. They'd already been in the battle for some time. John had been bringing wounded into the Great Hall while Sherlock covered him. John had been doing as much healing as he could and was already feeling drained, but he knew this wasn't even close to being over.

"Let's go." Sherlock said and John nodded. They both took off at a run out through the main doors. They paused once they were outside, trying to see if they could spot the first year that had slipped through. "Most likely direction for a child to run is downhill." He said and pointed to their left. The battle wasn't as thick there and John nodded. "Good place to start." He agreed.

They quickly took off down the slope, careful to watch their footing. This area was covered in rocks. Large and small. "Your left." John called, getting his wand at the ready.

"I see them." Sherlock responded. The two slowed and hid behind a large outcropping of rock. John peeked out from around the rock to the group of about eight Death Eaters. They seemed to be gathered in a circle around something. John winced as he tried not to imagine what was going on. "I don't think they saw us." He said quietly to Sherlock. "Let's keep moving." Sherlock nodded in agreement and then followed John as he moved forward.

John glanced over his shoulder back at Sherlock just in time to see the curse sailing through the air. His eyes widened as he saw it sailing straight for Sherlock. He opened his mouth to yell a warning, but it was too late. As soon as Sherlock's name left his lips, the curse hit him.

It's the _cruciatus _curse.

John seems to watch in slow motion as the curse strikes Sherlock's spine and causes his legs to buckle. He cries out, making a sound John has never heard before. John tries to skid to a stop, but the speed of his run and the downhill slope makes a fast stop impossible. He's not going to be able to catch Sherlock or even break his friend's fall. Sherlock's hands go back to his spine so that he has nothing to break his fall. His face is contorted into a complete look of pain as the scream continues to force its way out of Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock falls and his temple strikes a rock. The scream dies abruptly and Sherlock's body goes completely slack.

"_SHERLOCK!_" John screamed, finally coming to a stop. Time seemed to catch back up and suddenly blood is spilling over the rocks at a frightening speed. He fell to his knees at Sherlock's side. Tears are already blurring his vision. Sherlock's eyes are closed and it doesn't look like he's breathing. "NO." he cries, tears beginning to pour down his cheeks. "Please, don't." He begs. His voice is quieter as his shaking hand reaches out to check for a pulse. "_Please._" His two fingers rest against Sherlock's oddly turned neck…

A pulse.

He had a pulse.

An odd noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh bubbled out of John. He gingerly felt all the vertebrae in Sherlock's neck and felt more relief wash over him as he realized his neck wasn't broken. Sherlock had just bashed his head rather hard. He carefully supported his friend's neck as he rolled him over onto his back. Blood was gushing from the wound near his temple and John rushed to try and find something to staunch the flow.

That was when he heard it. "_Crucio!_" John lunged to the side without thought and saw the spell bounce off of a rock where he had last been. He looked up the hill and saw that the group of Death Eaters they had seen earlier were on their way down. John was quickly about to be outnumbered. He thought quickly, trying to figure a way out of this. He went back to Sherlock's side. He wanted to leave Sherlock on his back, it would be much comfier, but he had to do this right. He rolled him back over onto his stomach and positioned his head on the rock where it had been. He desperately looked around for his friend's wand and found it several feet downhill. He had to duck another curse to get back to Sherlock. He placed his friends wand back into his hand, wrapping his fingers tight around it. Hopefully Sherlock would wake up soon. "Come through for me, Sherlock." He whispered.

John saw another one of the group raise their wands and quickly brought his up. "_Expelliarmus!_" he called just as the Death Eater called out his own spell. John didn't hear what it was, but the spell was effectively rebounded. The Death Eater dropped and didn't move. The others hardly seemed to care.

It wasn't long before John found himself inside of a circle of Death Eaters. John had a feeling that this was what had happened to the first year they were after… That the Gryffindor first year Oliver had been in the circle he and Sherlock had spotted before this. He swallowed and continued to hold his wand out, watching the faces of the cackling witches and wizards around him.

"Oh he's _so _frightened!" One of them laughed. John felt a shiver run down his spine as they all laughed in unison.

"I'm not scared of you." John said, his voice firm and loud. He had to keep the attention on him and away from Sherlock. Sherlock was outside the circle. As soon as he woke up, they'd have a fighting chance. "You killed my friend and so I'm going to make sure you pay." He said. It was mostly true. Sure, Sherlock wasn't dead, but he definitely looked it. His attention flickered over to his fallen friend. Blood was still running from the wound, forming a pool of blood beneath his head.

That was when the first curse hit him. He was facing the woman who had done it, but didn't have enough time to react. All he felt was pain. Like thousands of burning knives were being stabbed into his body all at once. He doubled over and fell, landing hard on his shoulder. When the pain faded he was left gasping for breath, his vision swimming.

"Like that, wizard?" One of the Death Eaters spat before another curse came his way. He didn't remember screaming, but he realized he must have. His throat burned with the force of it leaving his throat. He looked around for his wand, realizing it wasn't in his hand anymore. He scrambled forward to try and grab it but a Death Eater ground the heel of their boot into his hand. He cried out and tried to pull away but was struck with another curse.

John wasn't sure how long this went on. It felt like an eternity. They would curse him, allow him to regain his breath, and then do it again. He found himself repeating his name over and over again. "I-I'm John Hamish Watson. M-My name is J-John Hamish Wat-tson…" If he was going to go insane, he was going to at least remember his name.

"The little boy only lasted a few minutes. You're doing very well, John Hamish Watson." One of them taunted.

Eventually he found himself sprawled out on his stomach, his chest heaving. His gaze went through the circle of people around him to where Sherlock was still laid out. John swallowed thickly. What if he was wrong? What if Sherlock had just been in the process of dying? What if he didn't wake up?

"Let's see how long you last being held under. Your pain will be over soon, boy." A man to his left said. John assumed that meant he was about to die, but he really couldn't bring himself to care. His hand reached out in Sherlock's direction.

He felt the curse strike his right shoulder.

All he could feel was pain. And that was all he would feel for the next month between bouts of unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

This chapter's a bit short, but I thought I'd give you a bit of a break from the emotions I've been hitting you with lately. Hehehe. I hope you enjoy! This chapter is _definitely_ different than the rest. ;) Enjoy!

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John's hand had begun to tremble even worse half way through his retelling of the horrific event. Mary had reached over and held it tightly between her hands. She didn't speak while John was talking. She didn't ask questions. She simply clung on to every word. She found tears running down her cheeks at one point, but didn't dare let go of John's hand to wipe them away. When he was finished she found herself speechless. John looked down at her and carefully lifted his free hand to brush her tears away with his thumb. "I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I know it's a lot to take in…"

Mary shook her head. "No, don't apologize. It's alright." She assured. She leaned her head against his shoulder once again, squeezing his hand even tighter. "I just… I just can't even believe that _actually_ happened."

John nodded. "I know. I wouldn't believe it either if I hadn't actually gone through it myself." He said. The two sat in silence for a few moments while Mary tried to gain her voice back.

"I saw you." She started, her voice tight as she tried to keep herself from crying. "When Sherlock brought you in to the Great Hall. He was covered in blood and could barely stand. He was carrying you in his arms. You were completely limp, but…" She sucked in a shaking breath and looked up at John. "Your nerves were so frazzled that your muscles would twitch, but you still looked so… so _lifeless_. I didn't think you were going to make it, John." She admitted. She turned her face away as she felt the tears begin to form again. John carefully extracted his hands from Mary's hold and wrapped her into a hug, holding her close to his chest. Mary's much smaller arms wrapped around his torso.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly, his own voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"I'm just… I'm just _very _glad that you're okay." Mary sniffled out.

John leaned his head down to place a kiss to the top of her head. "I am too."

Sherlock was in his room in the Slytherin Dungeon. No one else from his year of Slytherin had returned this year. Either because their loyalties had been with the Death Eaters and they'd felt the need to transfer schools or simply because Sherlock had finally drove them to their last straw. He was curled up on his side on his bed, back facing the door. His eyes were red from crying. Pink circles had formed under his eyes as well from the crying. They were joined by bruise-like purple smudges from his lack of sleep. He still wasn't sleeping well at all, even with the potion. He'd never slept well though and was used to it by now.

Guilt was tearing him up. He knew it, but couldn't seem to stop it. He was never good at dealing with his emotions. It had taken him a good portion of the summer to recognize the emotion as guilt. He still hadn't figured out how to deal with it and get past it. He'd already attempted to lock it inside his Mind Palace, but that wall had been shattered they day he'd seen John in St. Bart's. There was no chance he'd be able to do that again.

He heard the door to his room creak open and saw a familiar face behind it. He groaned and reached for his pillow, covering his face with it. "Go away." He said, voice muffled by the pillow. The door shut quietly and Sherlock thought for a moment that his visitor had gone away, but soon heard a voice next to his ear. "You haven't spoken to me for two weeks, Sherlock. What's wrong?" the woman asked, one of her hands gently running through Sherlock's curls, her long nails lightly scratching along his scalp. An involuntary shiver ran down Sherlock's spine.

"_Nothing's wrong_." Sherlock nearly growled, pressing his pillow tighter to his face and hoping to suffocate. He felt a light weight settle on the side of his bed, the mattress only dipping by a small fraction.

"Something's obviously wrong. Don't play games with me. You know it doesn't work."

Sherlock weighed his options before huffing in irritation and rolling so that he was facing his visitor. He pulled his pillow down so that he was hugging it to his chest. "Hello, Irene." He greeted properly. He gave her the best glare he could, but its harmful qualities were significantly diminished by the redness around his eyes and the pillow against his chest. Irene reached out and ran her fingers through his curls again. Sherlock's eyes fluttered and his toes curled at the motion. Irene couldn't help the small smile that graced her lips.

"Hello, Sherlock." She said. "So, going to tell me what's the matter? I'm beginning to miss our sessions together and everyone else in this school is awfully daft. You just can't be substituted." She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

Sherlock felt a bit of pride swell inside of him. Despite being the outcast of the school, he was still Irene's favorite. He'd often thought she was just playing him, but he'd seen the signs on her enough to know that her feelings for him were genuine. Sherlock still wasn't sure how he felt about that. Of course he thought she was beautiful. He enjoyed being with her. (He also enjoyed the occasional sex.) But he almost felt, above all else, he was in love with her intellect even more. The only woman that had managed to outsmart him. He wasn't sure how to tell Irene this, or even if he should. Was that proper to tell a woman? He was horrible with these emotion things. Leading back to his current problem…

Sherlock sighed, looking up to the ceiling. "I'm feeling incredibly guilty about what I did to John."

Irene gave him a sympathetic look. "It wasn't your fault, Sherlock. We've gone over this before-"

"If I would have been more careful none of that would have happened." Sherlock snapped, cutting her off. "If I would have been paying more attention to my surroundings I wouldn't have gotten caught off guard by that curse and I wouldn't have fallen and smashed my head off of a rock."

Irene placed a finger over Sherlock's lips to silence him. "Listen to me, love." She started, making sure Sherlock met her gaze and held it. "What's done is done. We can't change the past."

"Technically you can." Sherlock butted in.

Irene glared at him and then continued. "We have to live with the choices we've made. John doesn't blame you for what happened, so why should you blame yourself, hm?" she prodded. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but Irene quickly hushed him with a kiss. "No more talking." She insisted. "You need to rest. You look like you haven't slept in two days."

"Three."

"I _said_ no more talking."

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh, but remained silent.

Irene moved so that she was standing in front of Sherlock. Sherlock could clearly see her intentions and sat up, placing his pillow back where it belonged. His shoulders slouched and he gave a sigh, but began the process of taking off his clothes. "Don't sigh like that, you know this works." She challenged. Sherlock said nothing. Irene slipped off her robe, now dressed in just her white collared shirt, tie, and skirt. Once Sherlock had stripped to just his pants he laid down on his stomach.

Irene crouched over him after removing her shoes and gently began to massage his neck. "Oh, _Sherlock_. You're so tense." She said quietly. "This is why I'm so adamant about our sessions. First of all, it helps you sleep more regularly, and secondly having these sore muscles can't be comfortable."

"I just block them out." Sherlock answered, eyes already closed.

"Which is not good for your health."

"When have I cared about my health?"

"…Touché."

Irene continued her gentle massage. She soothed the muscles in his neck first before moving to his equally tense shoulders. "Relax, Sherlock." She said quietly, running her hands down his narrow shoulders. He'd definitely lost weight. Again. Or perhaps he'd just grown. She remembered Sherlock in first year. He'd been short and plump. After third year he'd sprung up like a tree, shedding the weight, and exposing those gorgeous cheekbones of his.

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh. "I _am _relaxing. If I try too hard to focus on relaxing then that would defeat the purpose of relaxing, wouldn't it?"

Irene didn't take offense to the harsh tone of his voice. She knew he was simply tired and frustrated. "Your shoulders are so tense they're practically at your ears." She said, gently smoothing them back down once again.

Sherlock huffed, but remained silent.

The massage went on for another fifteen minutes before Irene noticed a change in Sherlock's demeanor. She actually felt his muscles beginning to loosen beneath her hands. She smiled to herself. This _always _worked. She'd found after spending time with the boy that the reason he didn't sleep was because he couldn't get his brilliant mind to shut up. He'd lie awake for hours, not because he wanted to, but because he simply couldn't stop thinking. The massage was beneficial for his health and it gave him something to focus on. If he could just focus on Irene's movements and her voice he would drift off eventually.

"Deep breaths." She said quietly, her fingers still dancing over his back. She'd worked her way down to his lower back by this point. "Slow and deep." She instructed gently. She knew success was near when Sherlock tried to speak, but was groggy enough that it simply came out as an, "Dzmmkf."

Five more minutes passed before Irene felt Sherlock's body finally give in to sleep. She stilled her hands and felt the rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Deep and evenly paced breaths. She didn't dare move until she saw his eyes flicker beneath his lids, signaling deep sleep. She breathed a sigh of relief and then leaned forward to place a light kiss to his forehead. "Goodnight, Mr. Holmes." She whispered.

Irene gently made her way off the bed without disturbing the sleeping boy, picked her robes up from off the floor, and made her exit. She smirked at the gawking Donovan in the hallway.

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Naughty readers! You thought Irene and Sherlock were going to do the do! ;) Hahahahaha.

Please review! It is much appreciated! _First person to review on this chapter gets a one-shot of their choosing__. Ready. Set. Go!_


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